


Demons in the City

by HumbleCommoner, JMStei



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angels, Demons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Sex, F/F, Fallen Angels, Guns, Horror, Kinda, Magic, Multi, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumbleCommoner/pseuds/HumbleCommoner, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMStei/pseuds/JMStei
Summary: Republic City has seen better days. The streets are dark and full of unseen terrors. A hidden world of witches, vampires, and demon-slayers lurks just beneath the decaying surface of this once great metropolis.Asami? She's just trying to get by. Get through school, get home safe, and pursue her interest in the occult. That is until a failed ritual casts her into a world she could never have imagined. Sorcery beyond her wildest dreams, monsters that turn nightmares into reality, and journey of self-discovery that may finally break her out of that awkward, nerdy shell of hers. Also, she might be hearing voices.Meanwhile, Korra's a magical beat-cop with bills to pay and a job to do. That job being, figuring out what to do with the woman she's just found trying to summon a demon in her bedroom. You know, besides letting her pay half the rent and crash in the spare bedroom.





	1. Republic City Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> JMStei: Welcome to our newest piece, Demon in the City. The original idea for this was thought up by my amazing writer, HumbleCommoner sometime towards the end of 2018, and has been on a backburner since then. But when their story, Girls und Abrams finished, we decided to start this one in its place.  
> Humble: Hello. As previously said, this is a backburner project that’s been steeping since about mid-December. It’ll be in a slightly darker vein than either Abrams or Gone Questing, at times, but with a twist. Hope you enjoy it.

It’s dark, tonight.

Even darker than usual, if that can be believed. With the moon hidden behind a thick layer of dark clouds, all that lights the narrow sidewalk is neon signs and headlights. There are fewer of either of those than she’d like between the bus stop and her apartment. Cars didn’t come out at night, anymore. Not unless they had to. Lest their driver be the latest person to vanish at a stop sign or traffic signal.

Something hard cracked into the tip of Asami’s shoe, stubbing the same big toe she’d jammed that morning on the way to class. Cursing, the young woman hops along, damning absent road crews and the general squalor of The Fens.

The neighborhood lay sandwiched between the bustling entertainment district by the river, the skyscrapers of Downtown, middle-class Sykesville, and the docks. A black hole of inner city laborers, homeless people forced from the better parts of town by cops and the city-council, and everyone else on a budget.

Like the 2020 class of URC, Republic City’s finest center for higher learning.

Asami liked to think that most of her class were already in bed by this hour. 11:30 was hardly a time to be up with morning lectures on the horizon.

She, herself, would never have been caught dead up this late, normally.

But, that might have more to do with not having anyone to spend the time with, than anything. Not that she doesn’t have friends, of course. There were a few. Two from Mechanical Sciences 401, one from Advanced Computing. Opal in Greek Philosophy.

It was just a fact that all those friends had other friends they prefer to spend time with. Out partying and drinking the night away, instead of studying.

Or jogging down the street with a mysterious box under their arm.

Again, it was just a matter of taste. Most people her age were interested in alcohol, music, pop-culture, boys, girls, both, or all of the above. Very few had a passing interest in the occult. Let alone to the extent of lying to their father about where they were staying to spend the money grafted from rent on spellbooks.

Like, actually functioning ones. Not the five-dollar, discount version of the Necronomicon found in every bookstore frequented by discontented goths.

(Or was it emo’s? She could never keep those two straight.)

Those were kid’s stuff. The scribblings of pretenders and madmen in the last two-hundred years. Alhazred, Kramer, Lovecraft, and the like. No more magic in them than a Bram Stoker novel. And frankly, a lot less entertaining.

Ancient texts written in dead languages by court wizards from the Near East and Iranshar. Or else written by witch-hunters in the dying days of the mystic arts. That is where the REAL magic lies.

One such is tucked in her package, along with a few other items lacked until these last hours. Cheap, but hard to come by in the average supermarket. Salt from the south face of an Andean mountain, really? And do the four-leafed clovers actually have to come from Ireland, or was the author just a jackass?

Better safe than sorry.

Especially nowadays. You never know when the low rumbling of an engine might start up on the eerily silent street, spooking you into jumping a foot in the air. Let alone when said car might slide smoothly out of an alleyway to cruise alongside you at a snail’s pace.

All black.

Body, tires, windows, everything the same shade of midnight.

Neon signs reflect off the sleek shape in twisted patterns. It makes the car seem ethereal and otherworldly. Like it wasn’t meant to be there.

A mid-naught’s Mustang in factory condition would be an odd sight in the light of day. People Asami knew drove sedans and minivans, just like those lining the curb between herself and this unnerving tail. Not two-seater muscle cars with obvious affection lathered on them. Let alone with tint on the windows so dark no light passed through to reveal the driver.

She sprints the last half-block to her brownstone apartment building to get away, hair prickling along her spine.

Full speed, tight bun quickly unraveling, glasses bouncing on her nose. Even though the vehicle remains trolling at the same speed as before, her hand still clutches at the stun gun in her purse, only releasing it to scramble for her keys.

It passes, slowly, the moment she crosses the threshold.

Taking a second to let her heart settle down, the student takes stock. Around and over, the brown-paper wrapped box was closely examined. Dinged, but otherwise unharmed.

“Well, that was weird,” she says to herself, letting out a sigh. And double checking that all the locks were solidly fixed. Then it’s down the hall and up the stairs of the once delightfully furnished building. Public spaces that used to bustle with community meets and parties stand empty, only furnished with foldable furniture and a dusty box of Scrabble for each floor. Five in total, with her passing each on the way to her own door.

Next to last along the hall. Apartment 505.

Like every day, the door sticks firm to the frame. No amount of oil or filing has relieved even a foot-pound of pressure from that she must apply to gain entry. And only exhaustive experience has taught her the exact right place to lean her shoulder into.

Something stirs down the hall as Asami bests the settling foundation. Paranoid, bespectacled eyes snap to the source. A lonely black cat with unfamiliar markings.

“Christ, don’t scare me like that!” the self-proclaimed witch hisses, shooing the animal away.

The sound of locks, the second set between herself and whomever had so slowly trolled by, is a musical series. For she is now safe in her apartment. A clumsily refurbished set of rooms that had once been half a unit, before the owners slapped walls between it and the neighboring. Probably trying to turn a profit during one of the many housing slumps.

Still, it was enough for her humble needs. Half-bath with standing shower, hot water for at least five days a week, air-conditioning and heat, and a kitchenette with a stove who’s door only opened properly if you stood in front of the sink.

And that’s to say nothing of the view.

Pristine sightlines over half the Fens, being the tallest of the old projects still standing. Currently occupied by the faint orange glow and accompanying column of smoke from an arson fire. Maybe ten blocks distant on the horizon. Nothing to worry about as her nightly scrounging for edible food began.

Top candidate: yesterday’s pizza.

A special had been on, so she was set for choice between the leftovers. Two medium pies went a long way on the college student diet plan.

“Ugh, the veggies are gonna wilt,” she bemoans, lifting the lid of the first box to the sight of sad looking olives and spinach. Snatching two slices, the lid closes on what would likely be all her meals tomorrow, as well. “Looks like pepperoni for breakfast.”

With one hand, Asami eats, while the other flicks and sets the broom to its work. Perhaps the most useful spell she’s taught herself since escaping her father’s hawkish eye.

Her feet pad over to the well-worn couch across from a practically unused television. Dust clings to the old brick, the remote, and the complimentary cable box that came with her meager utility bill. More useful was the painfully slow Wi-Fi connection. Effectively useless for streaming, but perfect as a means to shop the deeper ends of Amazon and the Google algorithm in the comfort of her own home.

Looking around, she snorts.

This place was so much better than that dusty old house in the country. One can only hide behind the same false walls and winding hidden passages so many times before it becomes boring. Especially when your father knows them better than yourself.

And, no delivery.

Absently, Asami opens her unnamed spellbook to the ritual for which she had spent the last months preparing. Her gaze passes over the complex pattern of the summoning and binding circle. Complex lines of Akkadian, Phoenician, Latin, and Classical Greek spells are impressed over the rather artistic and elegant pattern of the grander incantation.

Beautiful, in a strange and indescribable way. No one thing is particularly pleasant to the eye, while the whole demands attention and admiration for its craftsmanship.

The whole thing is transcribed on the floor of her bedroom.

Word for word, line for line, pictogram for pictogram. A flawless replica. Redone a hundred times from scratch. Each attempt more obsessively transcribed than the previous. Something always needed to be improved. Some little whisper in her ear pointing out the smallest of flaws.

But tonight would be the night, she knew. The night that would shift her from the part-time dabbler, into the expert. Evidence her father could not dispute.

A Familiar, all her own.

Hopefully it would be a dog. Asami liked dogs.

Finished with her late dinner, the engineering student hustles into her room. Even more dust rests in this place than any other. Bedsheets included. Three weeks spent bumming on the couch did that to a room. Just as one drowsy trip to the bathroom at two in the morning wrecks the work of a fortnight of obsessive scribbling.

With another wave of the hand, she suspends the book in midair, pages flapping to the ones she needs. Even following her on trips to the refrigerator and bathroom cabinets for supplies. Bobbing merrily as the self-proclaimed witch returns with arms laden. Chicken hearts and sage, pink quartz and dried clover. As odd a random assortment as her mind could think off. Especially those written in the margins by her mother’s tight scrawl.

French perfume?

Freshly blooming roses?

Dark chocolate?

Was she summoning a familiar or wooing a penny-novel Victorian?

But, odd as the additions were, her mother’s notes had never led her astray, thus far. Not unlike her own personal Half-Blood Prince. Or guardian angel.

It’s almost time, that slightly detached whisper in her head reminds, drawing bleary, half-glazed over eyes to the clock ticking on the wall. Anxiety builds at the sight of an approaching Witching Hour. Just five-minutes to midnight. Each tick brings the long-awaited reckoning closer to fruition. Everything has to be perfect…

Yes, perfect.

Perfect portions of every offering, placed in perfect mounds, perfectly her own height apart. Centered exactly on the middle point with idle trigonometry. Just as the black candle that sat in the place was perfectly 121-millimeters tall.

Snapping tremoring fingers, Asami brings to life the ghostly grey-blue flame. One that burns, but makes no heat. Makes light, yet melts no wax. A specter of flame.

Wil’o'wisp.

“I call upon the powers of the Earth! Here my words and bend to my command,” she recites word-for-word, translating the words to English as she went. “Angels of Highest-Heaven, Devils of Deepest-Hell, Primal Gods of Eons Past, I order you into my service, He who bears a Soul. Grant me your boon, as dictated by our Black Compact!”

“She…” nags the voice, even more nitpicky and detached than usual, “And it is a Shrouded Compact…”

Casting the rose pedals into the flame, her chant continues uninterrupted, “I request a Servant! Both mentor and student. One who is wise and capable. Who has seen countless suns and moons, the birth and death of nations.”

“Worlds, damn it!”

Indeed it was, as more and more words slip through the cracks of excitement and anxiety. Her translation becomes more and more bumbling. Sweaty fingers slip against the page, losing her place. Two lines repeat themselves in separate languages. One she skips entirely, only to double back moments later once she realizes those after make little sense without its context.

Nerves fray as the flame flickers. Other whispers echo out in the shadows. Dark temptations that play at even darker fantasies. Money, power, fame… ruin upon those that had scorned her. If only she stops the ritual.

But she forges on.

Ghostly tendrils of shadow-fire snake from the candle to claim the offerings in turn. First flesh, then stone, beauty, flavor, and scent divine. Just as the scrawls of a dozen sorcerers before her said it would. Each of their notes said the exact same, only to trail off before the final conclusion. Perhaps all were as taken as she when the color of the flame flickered to a shade of alabaster white.

All the while, the voice berates. That faint, dream-like whisper cuts and corrects, until finally speaking the words a second before herself.

“Rise, Spectre of the Fallen! Reclaim flesh and blood long denied. Taste the air and feel cold stone beneath your feet,” Asami chants as the door slams shut behind her. Ghostly shadows of monsters dance upon the wall. Clawed feet and hands reach out from the wall and press against the barrier of the outer circle. But she is not afraid. The end is in clear sight. Words start to exit clear and crisp, without having to think. “Come forth, My Servant! Take your place at my side-”

“Say my name…”

On her neck, she can feel lips curl into a smile. Arms draping over her shoulders.

New hands reach up from the flames like smoke. Even as something hangs on the tip of her tongue, they solidify into shapes, taking form from the ash. Pale and terrifying, flesh knitting from the body of the candle. Bone and sinew spring from the remains of her offerings. First fingers, then the hands as a whole. Flexing and writhing like a seizure trapped their exposed, snapping muscles and tendons without a brain for control.

Only once the construct had made it to mid forearm, did skin sprout from ruby flesh. Translucent parchment that tore as muscles underneath writhe like worms.

There is an unearthly howling as those shadow-people gathered as audience howl and throw themselves against the outer circle. Black lightning flashes, dispelling the specters, but more come to take their place. Hands reach out for her. Desperate, pleading, clawing.

Reality shatters like a pane of glass.

Those hands are those of a human, her brain recognizes, despite already knowing that to be true. She has seen them made, and yet had not noticed just how foul and unnatural they were. Paler than moonlight. Lifeless flesh that moves of its own volition.

Pained, writhing jerks. The kind a wounded animal made. Lunging out at everything around, snatching at empty air and clawing at the ground. Faintly, she can hear the echo of a banshee’s scream.

Stunned, Asami repeats herself, seeing the words for the first time as though she’s been living in a fugue. Or a trance… “Arise, She who dwells Below. Outcast of Heaven and Hell. The betrayed, the spurned, the reviled Goddess who has walked among my Kin. Come forth, My Master…? Let me take my place by your side...”

No!

No, this isn’t right! Her own voice screams inside her head for the first time in ages.

The tome slips from Asami’s fingers, hitting the ground and making the flame flicker and dim. But not before those pale, ashen fingers can wrap around the nearest ankle.

“You foolish girl! Pick up the book!,” the voice berates her, yet not from within. Rather, it emanates from the candle and resonates around the claustrophobic space. “Finish the incantation! Whatever you do, you must finish, or-”

In a flash, the flame exhausts the last of the wax.

Everything freezes.

Motes of dust hang in suspension, moths held wing-flap. Horrid shadow beasts and the beating of a startled heart. All comes to a temporal halt, even as the witch’s consciousness does not. For she can see the horror of flesh falling in upon itself. Self-cannibalizing, dissolving, collapsing. Into a ball the size of her fist, blood spraying in all directions, before falling back into the mass and collapsing further into a magical singularity.

For the briefest moment, Asami sees any physicist’s dream. The Universe. An event horizon the size of a bottle cap.

Then, it is gone, and momentum returns.

In a blast that rips her feet from solid ground and sends the young woman hurtling into the wall. Head and shoulders smash into a picture frame, arm into a lamp, and teeth dig deep into either the flesh of her lip or the tip of her tongue.

Legs go limp under her weight as she falls. Darkness floods in as the failed ritual burns itself into the floorboards with the scent of pungent sulphur. Black and yellow fire of immolation instead of the grey-blue of ritual. With what little luck she has, the flames confine themselves to those most intricate lines of her labor.

Head nodding as unconsciousness sweeps over her senses, Asami succumbs. But not before the voice can scold her one last time.

“Tch. What rotten luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JMStei: Next weekend is a new chapter of Gone Questing. If you are new to our pieces, please check it out. I promise you won't be disappointed with it. But as always, let us know what you think in the comments below. This story is gonna be a bit different than anything we have done before. And we want to know what you, the readers, think of it. Good or bad  
> Humble: Exactly. Comments mean a ton in terms of motivation. Let us hear what you think, and have a wonderful day.


	2. That Which Goes Bump in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JMStei: Nothing to see here! Go ahead and read!

Drip...

Drip...

Drip…

Ripples spread across the dark pool of her dream. The same she’s seen for months.

Always just out of reach, set in a floor of gold etched marble. Stone cold under her feet as she runs for the water’s edge. Farther and farther away with every step. Disappearing in the distance when her desire to see what lay under that obsidian surface at last sends the woman into desperate sprint. Bare toes dig into solid rock, propelling her hurtling in the wrong direction. Away from that thing she needs from the pool.

That… thing.

What was it, even?

Why couldn’t she remember?

“ _ Wake up, girl,” _ says the voice, smile pressing on her neck, “ _ You’ve slept long enough.” _

“Go away,” Asami replies, fighting out of the arms holding tight around her waist, “You’re not real. I won’t… listen anymore. I have to get there. Have to see-”

The voice tuts, “ _ Not yet, child. Not yet. Prophecy is too dangerous a task to undertake, just yet, I’m afraid. Whether these events come to pass, or  _ **_not_ ** …” That last word echoes about the place. A cavernous structure whose walls are swallowed by the blackness. Like some ancient temple, or a palace. “ _ For now, you must  _ **_wake up_ ** _.” _

“Who are you? Why are you here?” she asks, hands yanking at the hold to take her first free step away from the ambiguous humanoid pressed into her back. Only to find it shrouded by walls of black feathers from two great wings. “Answer me! Who are you!?”

A crack forms in the rustling wall, revealing a single, cat-like, violet eye. “ _ Wake up, Asami.” _

Eyes snap open to the real world.

To the same crumbling ceiling of old sheetrock. Same peeling, off-white paint. Just with more black lines of escaped hair than usual. Along with a curious lack of light.

Raising a hand to wipe them away, she finds her entire body covered in droplets of cold sweat. Her head, chest, back, and hands each suffer from their own unique pains. Deep throbbing behind her temples, true agony down her spine. Blood oozes from long cuts along her right thumb and forefinger. Just a sting compared to the bruised hammering of her heart. Like someone had taken a crowbar and a baseball bat to her ribs and torso.

Moving hurt.

Groaning hurt.

Hurting hurt most of all.

To be honest, it wasn’t the most uncomfortable spot she’d ever conked out in. Her eyes might not be able to see her clock, but the dark light outside her window meant it was some hours before classes would start on campus. Plenty of time to just let her eyes drift closed-

_ Creak… _

The unmistakable sound of weight shifting on one of the five sets of loose floorboards. Only feet could do that. And they were close.

_ Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! _

Her eyes snap straight to the drawer on her side table. Inside was a flip knife she kept for just such a circumstance. Much more reliable than her clumsy assortment of offensive magic. But it was a long way, and would take her away from the window and potential safety via the fire-escape. A very tempting prospect, versus facing either a burglar or her landlord.

_ Window… _

_ Drawer… _

_ Window? _

_ Drawer? _

There’s the fresh sound of approaching footsteps. Slow and deliberate, but nonetheless terrifying in the pitch dark of night. It could be anyone with any motive. Snatcher, murderer, rapist, robber, or some combination thereof. And Asami had no desire to find out which, if any.

_ Window! _

With a frantic wave, she sent the door hurtling closed in a blast of white light. Launching her battered body across the narrow room, her hope is that the bright flash and loud noise might by her precious time to flee. Long enough, at least, to dip and hurl one of the empty offering chalices through the closest pane and to the alley below.

Red light overwhelms the white with a thunderclap. Her bedroom door becomes a shower of ash and splinters as an unknown spell unmakes it.

“There you are!” a woman’s voice calls from beyond, almost as surprising as the magic.

From inside her mind, a disappointed sigh. Lips smile on Asami’s neck, so she more feels the words being spoken than hears them, “ _I would recommend_ ** _not_** _running. You might think you’re fast, but middle-school track was a long time ago.”_

_ But-but _ , she tries to tell the figment of her mind.

What point was there in that? To tell this fresh delusion her reasoning would only fuel the madness. It was one thing for her to die, but another thing entirely to go crazy before the end.

“Stop!”

A shot rings out, cracking as it passes what feels an inch from Asami’s ear. Close enough that the ear of her glasses rattles and a few more strands of hair escape the fraying bun. Knees quiver as she loses all control of her lower half. Hands shoot up in surrender. As she shakes, the witch hopes to God there’s a cut she hadn’t noticed on her leg.

Otherwise, she’s wet herself.

“Stopped! I’ve stopped!” the college student babbles. Warmth rolls down her leg as her eyes fixate on the open pane that was both so close, and so very far away. “Don’t shoot, please! Just, take whatever you want. I haven’t seen you, I promise!”

Closer came the footsteps. Heavy boots with thick soles. The faint swish of a jacket of some sort. Thus is dispelled the faintest of hopes that the intruder was a bum from RCPD.

One that could use magic, same as herself.

“ _ It does seem an unlikely possibility,” _ hums the nameless voice, apparently far more amused than the psyche that had spawned it.

Something presses into the base of Asami’s skull. A hard something that could only be the barrel of a gun. The same that had barked so angrily as to stop the woman in her tracks. Held steady by a wielder she could not see or reach. One that spoke in a menacing whisper, “Oh, please. You know this isn’t a robbery.”

_ What? _

“What day of the week is it?”

“Uh, um, Tuesday!”

“Where are you?”

“In my apartment.”

“More specific than that,” growls her interrogator, pressing the weapon harder against the bone, threatening to unleash her tightly bound bundle of black. “Neighborhood, city, state? Go.”

_Why do you need to know? Is it some sick foreplay?_ Asami asks herself. All the while, she racks her brain for any incantations or charms to get her out of this mess. Some stand out and are filed away, just in case. “The Fens, Republic City, Michigan. P-please, just put the gun down. I promise, I won’t try anything.”

“Heh.” Unlike the ones felt upon the skin of her neck, the smile heard in this single sound makes something deep in the witch’s core freeze cold. It’s so dry and humorless, like a knife across her neck. “Ok. I’ll put it down. If you answer one more question.”

“I’ll answer. I’ll answer!”

“ _ Tch!” _ her insanity declares, and she can feel the smile dip into a bare-toothed frown, “ _ Take a deep breath, will you? It’s only a witch-hunter.” _

**_Witch-hunter!?_ **

Another press of the cold barrel into her scalp, along with a metallic strain and a final click. Over the sound of her little squeak, the unknown woman asks her final question, “How come everyone in this building is dead, except for you?”

_ Dead? _

“Dead?”

Half the frown pulls taut against the ghost of Asami’s nape. Fingers drum against her ribs. Inside. Underneath the flesh and skin. It was like spiders crawling about her insides, spawning instant goosebumps. A hum rumbles deep in her chest, and yet never reaches her lips. “ _ I did warn you. Still, nothing you can’t fix.” _

_ Dead? _

_ They're all dead… _

All the strength went out of her limbs as blood blanched from her face. This wasn't a bad dream, was it? Her spell had rebounded when the haze had lifted from her thoughts. Slammed her body against the wall to knock her through a loop. Had it done so through the entire building? Tossing people from their beds, down the stairs, and across rooms without the benefit of a split-second to tense.

“Oh my god...”  _ I killed them all? _ “No, no, no, no.”

The voice, the same one she'd heard whispered in her ear for weeks, had warned her not to stop. But the scene had been so surreal. Pale flesh clawing at the nothingness as shadows cackled all around. She had stopped, frozen…

How?

How could this happen?

Eyes dart to the fallen spellbook, laying pristinely where it had fallen. Not a page out of place.

“ _ They aren't dead, yet.” _

“Calm down, alright. I need you to tell me what happened." The unseen woman shifts around to see further into the room. “I’m guessing it has something to with that ritual you have going there?”

Ritual.

Her ritual, charred into the floor by raging white flame. “I was trying to summon a familiar,” she confesses, running through events to see what had gone wrong. All those hours, the whispers in her ear, ending in dramatic failure. “Something happened...”

“I can see that,” the intruder said, at last withdrawing the pistol from Asami's skull. But this relief is short-lived, as the student's hands are yanked behind her by an irresistible force. Not flesh and bone of hands, but cold shadow in the corner of her eye, thick straps of which wrapped around each wrist and drew them to each other. “You're coming with me. And so's anything you used for all this. If I can figure out how to fix this mess, you might get off easy.”

In her head, the voice warns,  _ “Leave and their souls will be damned. You must  _ **_stay_ ** _ if you wish to save them. And myself.” _

But how?

How could she both reverse the calamity and keep herself from being kidnapped by the intruder?

Tendrils of the binding spell were now nearly at her elbows. It felt as though her shoulders were about to be torn right out of their sockets. Struggling was less than fruitless, only serving to remind her how helpless she was, and adding further pain to muddle her thoughts.

_ I'll have to keep her talking. _

“Who are you?” the witch asks through gritted teeth and little gasps of breath. “How did, you, ow, know what I was doing?”

For a second, her captor pauses, halfway through the sound of holstering her weapon. “You ask a lot of questions for someone in your position, you know?” A foot kicks apart Asami's legs, hands frisking down her side. “Name's Korra, local Justicar-at-large. Anything else I should know about in your apartment? You know, apart from the demonic invocation?”

Demonic? “It's not  **demonic** . It's a familiar-binding circle.”

“So you keep saying. Doesn't put the souls back in the bodies, though,” this Korra hums, pulling out the student's phone and wallet and tossing them carelessly on the dresser. “Start talking. Otherwise, tonight going to end  **very** badly for you, I promise.”

In her tone, a harsh cut underwrote what could be professional poise. Not the voice of a madman or a liar, but an officer.

_ Justicar… _

The word stirred a faint memory. An argument between two jaded parents, bickering as they often had in those final months. Also fresher ones from almost a dozen texts. Either scrawled in the margins by a frantic hand, or else typeset alongside a note of a spell being outlawed by this or that council.

“You're one of the arbiters of magical law? I thought you went extinct?”  _ Along with almost every other magic user. _

It was what her father had told her in the wake of the funeral. Like something out of a discount children's novella, a tale of how spellcraft and mysteries had withdrawn from the world, to be replaced by his realm of science and fact.

Asami guesses that he wouldn't have balked at a smaller lie in the wake of that greater one.

“That I am. Can't say I've ever heard it called that before,” Korra snorts, at last working her way to a position her face can be seen. Somewhat to the witch's relief, and also her mild disappointment, this shadowy intruder isn't some 10-foot beast covered with scars, but one that wouldn't be amiss in the next seat during class. “Usually, it's 'pig', or 'bitch', or 'ow, get off my shoulder'. You got a name?”

“Sato, Asami Sato.”

With a boot, the Justicar nudges one of the empty chalices until it tips, spilling the liquid within. Black remnants of what had been the wine, now smelling strongly of vinegar.

Sniffing, she says, “Well, Sato, Asami Sato, you seem to be rather calm for someone that's been caught stealing the souls of their neighbors. What was it? Landlord bump the rent a little too high? Pesky kids won't keep it down as you're trying to sleep? You might as well tell me, since the smoking gun is charred into the floor as evidence.”

“No, it wasn't-” And she wasn't. Asami was only just holding on to something resembling composure. Her heart was racing, thundering in her ear, making it impossible to think. Somehow, she knew she could fix this. Set things right. Undue the consequences of her mistake, if such a tame word could do it justice.

It hadn't been their bodies, but their souls which had been affected. As one unnatural life was snuffed out before conception, so had it latched onto those around it as anchors to its existence. Just as a cornered animal would lay about when cornered, so did any life, doing its hardest to fend off that dark night. Every spell had a nexus. Some point that binds all the disparate energies together in a way the universe otherwise wouldn't allow. All she had to do was think.

The spell had stopped, so it wasn't that. Her body isn't a glowing nexus of souls, so it isn't her. That leaves- “The book…”

“What was that?”

“I need the book,” Asami says, struggling fiercely against her bonds. The straps react as if imbued with some semblance of life, squeezing down hard enough to still anyone less determined. “Get these damn things off me! If I can see the spell, I can fix this!”

Turning around with a look of mild amusement on her face, Korra replies in a cooler tone, “If you think I'm letting you out of those restraints, you're insane. Tell me what needs to happen.”

She steps toward the leather-bound volume, not taking her eyes off the woman fighting to free herself. One hand lifts the corner of her dark leather jacket to rest on the grip of a sleek handgun. The other dips to retrieve the book, revealing what looks like a cut-down shotgun holstered against her other hip.

Briefly, stunned anew, Asami wonders why someone able to use magic would feel the need to be so heavily armed.

Then the ghostly lips against her spine broke their tentative silence.  _ “Stop her, child. We must be the ones to disrupt the snare. Otherwise, well,” _ a smile tests upon goose-pimple skin,  _ “Let's just say it won't end well.” _

“H-hold up!”

Not the best interruption, but the first one that leapt to mind. Alas, it was not enough to still Korra's fingers before they brush against the front cover. Blue eyes that catch every drop of moonlight look questioningly at the witch, away from the growing glow of scarlet light emitting from the book's pages. That is until sparks of electricity in the same hue begin to chirp and squeak from the suddenly shuddering volume.

“What the fuck?” asks the Justicar in a hush, backing away and loosely drawing her weapon. “Are you doing this?”

“How could I be? My hands are tied?”

Fire erupts from the charred outline of Asami's failed ritual. The color of blood, devoid of the normal oranges and yellows, almost swallowing an ankle as Korra stumbles away. It flares around the outer edges, bringing a return to the cackling shadows.

Distant laughter fills the space around the two women, along with the sound of agonized screams. Shapes solidify as the pistol is raised to train over every wall and corner in a slow circle. Some forms fade before the weapon, while others laugh harder than before, making playful swipes with many-clawed appendages that looks strong enough to sever a head.

“What did you  **do** ?!”

“Nothing!” Asami insists, turning and backing closer towards the intruder to gain distance on the multitude of horrific figures. “ **You** touched the book!”

Fingers press tight into her ribs as madness warns,  _ “It's behind us...” _

“ **Sor** - _ ella _ ?” something asks.

Some **thing** , because no human ever had a voice that set hairs on end as this one did. One syllable deep and resonant, like that which eschewed from some black abyss, the other high and chirping as a songbird. All throughout was an unnatural inflection. Not speaking so much as vomiting the words from a throat not meant to voice them.

Lungs shuddering, teeth chattering, she turns to face this new speaker. She turns and immediately regrets it as the worst mistake of her life.

It claws itself from the swarm of shadows, crimson flame engulfing its jagged portal. There isn't a face to fix on. Or is the entire thing a face? Amid the flurry of flayed, nearly human arms are a half-dozen slobbering maws. All gnashing teeth and black, rotting gums, tongues flailing like whips tipped with bony shards. More of these protrude from the monstrosities torso and limbs. Spears and blades and misplaced fragments, mashed together atop two stout, muscular legs.

Everything about Asami freezes in terror. Not in the way it had at the sound of the shot, but a deeper feeling. Beyond a fear of mortal suffering or even death, but a black pit of primeval horror in the pit of her soul.

“ **Deir** - _ fiúr _ ?” it asks again, two mouths taking turns to gurgle sounds, “ Are you my  **Sis** - _ ter _ ?”

There is a sound of tearing leather and twenty eyes emerge in rough pairs and trios around every jaw. Milky-white and lifeless, they all focus onto her.

That which passes for lips on the monster smile, and the deepest voice hums, “ **Na bitte!** ”

Gunfire erupts from over Asami's shoulder. Shots so close together they might have been automatic. The sound is deafening in the enclosed space, echoing off the walls. Almost as startling as the vile howls of the demon as little geysers of blood spout from rotting flesh.

“Move!”

Her bonds loosen, allowing the witch to flail her hands as she scrambles. Feet pull her so fast across the bedroom floor her socks come flying off after two steps. Glasses slip down a narrow nose, nearly flying off as she is compelled to snatch the accursed spellbook from the floor before throwing herself through the window and onto the fire-escape.

“What the fuck is that?” Asami hisses to herself, flying down rickety steel steps, followed closely by the gun-wielding Korra who keeps up a steady fire despite her speed.

“ _ One of my brother's lesser creations. Spawns of the flesh-pits. Terribly stupid but-” _ The wall and window explode in a shower of mortar, wood, brick, and glass that pelt the two women a story below.  _ “-very determined. Excellent foot-soldiers.” _

**_That's_ ** _ a foot-soldier!?!? _

A hand grabs her shoulder, stopping the student short of the next flight. “This way!” Korra orders, pushing her open palm towards the wall of windows, “It'll catch us!”

Flashing the same crimson light as had destroyed the bedroom door, the windows shatter into the room beyond, allowing the Justicar to half-guide/half-drag her into a mirror of the floor above. Behind and above, metal screeches and snaps under the flailing weight of the demon, at last collapsing in a mass of stamp-steel and flesh.

Asami makes to flee, but the other woman doesn't.

Calmly, she draws the shotgun from her waist, cocking both hammers with a single hand. “I cast you out in the name of Saint Michael the Archangel,” she says, losing one barrel and causing the thing to stagger, “Aid me in this task, oh Prince of Armies! Grant me your courage and strength! I cast you out, Beast!”

Roaring, the demon rises to its feet, blood pouring from the gaping hole in its center. Arms try to drag it through the too-small opening, others tearing through the air. Just as the frame begins to crumble, there is a ping. Then a second. And a third.

BAM!!!

Korra fires at the same moment the last bolt gives way. With an ungodly screech, the entire fire-escape comes crashing down, taking the hells-pawn with it.

It is clamor and calamity for a short while, followed by deafening silence.

“Did-did you kill it?” Asami asks, backing away with the book held tightly to her breast. “It has to be dead, right?”

The intruder turns to her with a grave look. “No.”

And not a second later, the abomination howls above the destruction of all about itself. “ **СЕСТРА!!!** ” it roars, rage sending the witch tripping over herself into the living room, then towards the hall beyond. “ **Θα σκοτώσω την αδελφή!** ”

_ Run… _

_ I have to run! _

She might have had the slimmest chance against the witch-hunter, in a square fight, but she knew no spell that could dispatch a thing that shrugged off gunfire and a four-story fall onto crumpled steel. No book had taught her that. No whisper. No helpful note. Her only hope was to run as far and as fast as possible, in hopes of losing the thing.

“ _ It won't work,” _ the voice whispers in her ear. Hands work at the muscles of her shoulders, relieving tension from every pressure point.  _ “Not now that it has your scent. If you cannot slay it, you must banish it, Asami. Return the book to the circle and destroy it.” _

_ How do I do that? Tear it up? _

“ **_Burn_ ** _ it...” _

Heavy boots following close on her heels, Korra shouts, “If you have any ideas, I'm open to 'em, Sato! I'm not fixing this mess for free!”

“I do- wait, you charge!?”

“Is now really the time for this conversation?” the Justicar asks, reloading her weapons on the sprint. This leaves her just enough time to demolish the door to the hall in another flash, lighting the crushing darkness for a split second and blinding the college student as to what lay beyond. Bringing them both to a stop with as firm hand, she asks, “Do you have a plan?”

Asami nods. “I need to get back to the circle.”

From the direction of the main stairwell, all hell breaks loose. Howling, crashing, roaring, crying, splintering and every note in between. The thing was back inside, already, and making its way up.

Readying her stance, Korra inquires, “Let me guess, that's the only way back up?”

“Now that the fire-escape is gone, yes.”

She scoffs, blowing a few strands of hair from her face. Moonlight still catches her startling blue eyes, framed by strong, yet feminine cheeks of a chicory brown, beaded by fresh droplets of sweat. Not things Asami should really notice with a demon bearing down, per say, but nonetheless done.

“Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful,” the woman curses, switching the pistol to her left hand, shotgun to her right. As the sound of splintering steps and banisters reach them, she whispers swift instructions “Alright, this is what's gonna happen. We're making a run for the stairs. You will stay  **right** behind me the entire way. We get back to the ritual, and I'll try to hold that thing off until you release the binding. No funny business, no stalling for time, just do it. And if you so much as  **look** towards an exit, I  **will** shoot you. Understood?”

Asami nods, again, and swallows a suddenly bone-dry mouth. “Yes, Ma'am.”

There is a fresh roar as she follows along the corridor, feeling the old building shake under the fury of this dark creation of her hubris. The lone light in the common room flickers, flickers, then slowly dies along with hope. Plunged into fresh darkness, leaping over the fallen body of a nameless neighbor the self-proclaimed witch starts to shake.

_ Oh, God… _

_ I'm going to die! _

Her madness smiles broadly, speaks in a mocking, irreverent tone,  _ “Fear not, My Child, for I am with you. Ha! Lighten up. This is going to be fun!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humble: So, there’s Part 2, dumping you straight into the action. Hope you enjoyed it, as well as Korra’s introduction. She’s gonna be a bit prickly, at first. Fair warning. As always, love to hear from you guys and gals, so drop a comment if you have the time to give an opinion.  
> JMStei: Meeting Korra, check. Magic, check. Giant multilingual demon, check. Seems like this is going to be a fun story for us to write. And as I always say, let us know what you thought down below. See you next weekend for another update of Gone Questing.


	3. Into the Belly of the Whale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a voice whispers in her skull, Asami runs to undo and unmake the horror that has been unleashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humble: Hope you enjoy!

Dark and rotting, the hallway has a distinctly threatening air to it that wasn't present on most days. Streaks of peeled paint revealed the white undercoat of drywall in jagged triangle. To Asami, they look like giant teeth, primed to snap shut 'round her and the Justicar.

Not helping with this delusion are the sounds of roaring pandemonium. Misshapen, fleshy limbs tearing away at something she could not see, only imagine. A neighbor, a pet, a firefighter or RCPD know-nothing come to render aid? Just some unfortunate bit of furniture? She didn't know and had no intention of going to find out.

_ A demon! _

_ I summoned a demon! _

“ _ No, this one  _ **_summoned_ ** _ the demon,” _ her rabid whisper corrects, fingers working deeper into her shoulder, through muscle and straight to bone,  _ “You merely primed the act by failing to complete the ritual like I told you to.” _

“How is that any different!?”

Korra turns her head in the midst of her flatfooted advance, removing her luminescent eyes from the threat ahead. Eyelid twitching, she asks, “What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” the student blathered, smiling as innocently as possible. Perhaps the worst thing to do at the moment is to bicker with a voice that isn't there. Maybe after taking time to note the finer features of the intruder's face. “Just, talking myself through things.”

Was she believed?

It doesn't seem it, and it doesn't seem to matter. “Try doing that on the inside, okay? And stop crowding me.”

She nods.

In her chest, a heart thunders a thousand beats a minute. Heat rises into her cheeks as she lets a gap of a couple paces open up where there had been almost none.

They move under cover of darkness. Pitch black shapes in a pitch black background loom in the distance. Barely outlines and illuminated by only the faintest glow of a dying streetlamp, each carries a certain menace. All Asami can do is scan for movement as they enter the central common area, booking a beeline for the stairs.

It is closer.

Maybe just a floor below.

“ **болит!** ” the thing bellows, thundering about the place in an apparently blind rage, “Hermana duele _oss_! **я буду** kill Sister!”

If that isn't a motivator, she didn't know what is. Two steps at a time, heart hammering in her ears, the witch hurls herself up, and up, and up. Each is farther than it should be. How many steps? How many landings? Three? Five? SEVEN!?!?

Her lungs burn as she powers down the hallway, bouncing off both walls in a gallop for the sticking door. Feet are like miles. But there is a light at the end of this tunnel. A bright beacon signals the room number, glinting bronze amid all the dull colors. She throws herself against it, not having noticed that the other woman is no longer ahead or by her side.

Gunfire erupts.

The bark of the pistol almost swallowed by a roar of unholy pain and anger. Moments later, the low thud of a shotgun blast and a crash of broken paneling.

It is coming.

She can feel it in her bones. Every step echoes as the twisted abomination annihilates everything in its way. The thing is unstoppable, seemingly. Bullets shrugged of light paintballs, a four-story fall like a trip on the sidewalk.

“Hurry up, Sato! I can't hold this thing off for long!”

_ You can't hold it off at all. _

Dread fills Asami's soul as her shoulder jams against the damned door. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Justicar dodge a fatal swipe by inches. It is a fight she cannot win. One that she, herself, would have already lost. This thought prompts her to attempt battering the obstacle down before throwing herself against the opposite wall and waving her open palm in the entryway's general direction.

First it budges, then it moves, then it flies open as if spring-loaded. Sure, it takes a good six-inches of wall with it, but property damage is the least of her worries with certain death looming.

She charges through to opening, both hands clutching white-knuckled to the spellbook at her chest. Everything inside the main room is exactly as she left it, down to the tiniest mote of dust. Book bag, plate, purse, and cellphone all lay in pristine order.

As she passes, her fingers dart to grab the puny stun-gun by its yellow and black handle.

“ _ What, pray tell, do you think  _ **_that_ ** _ is going to do?” _ the voice asks in her head, without a hint of anxiety. Rather, it sounds impatient,  _ “Burn the book, child. Hurry!” _

Hurry…

The circle is just feet away. Salvation at her proverbial fingertip.

No second door obstructs the path, having been conveniently demolished minutes before. The fragments are everywhere, along with bits of wall, brick, and glass. Everything else is all a shambles. Bedsprings mingle with the debris of the building. Picture frames are shattered. Each step is slowed by the lack of friction on the surface, quite like ice-skating, in a way.

Rubber soles crunch on broken glass as Asami summons the broom. Heavy kicks send pieces of 2x4 whizzing off into the corners, while the caster splits her attention between clean-up and the thunder from the hallway.

Every shot is loud as lightning, the flash growing in intensity with each retort.

Briefly, the twenty-something feels as though she is watching a thunderstorm rolling in, before remembering she is even more powerless than in that analogy. All she has is a broom, a book, and a taser to fend off a demonic force of nature. Not even a stout wall is worth hiding behind. So she does the only thing she can do: put the totem to the torch.

Snap!

Snap!

She strikes her finger like a flint against the steel of her thumb. Sparks fly, white-hot and quick to die, to scatter over the parchment pages.

It wouldn't burn.

Refused to catch, no matter how close she held the ignition source to them. Again and again she strikes to no avail, until a desperate fury overcomes her. Her hands grip pages and tear them from the binding, flinging them roughly to the ground around the candlestick.

The thing screams in purest agony. Loud and sharp enough to crack those few panes of glass still whole inside her room. “ **CECPTA!** ” it calls in its twisted form of speech. Heavy footsteps can now be heard above the desperate defense. Somehow more resonant than gunfire and wanton, aimless destruction.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Like twisted heartbeats, the unseen creature drags itself ever closer. She tears out more pages and earns another shriek. But still the steps persist.

“Whatever you're doing, do it faster!” Korra demands, letting loose another shotgun blast. Her staggered form reappears in the corner of Asami's eye, although only in the shadow of her gunfire. Pistol rounds rip forth as she shouts, “Stay down, damnit! Just, Fucking, DIE!!!”

Madness hums against her neck,  _ “Hurry… You can do this.” _

_ I can do this… _

_ I can do this! _

She flicks the stun-gun from the pocket she has jammed it. With a press of a thumb, electricity arcs between the stainless prongs. As the Justicar comes rolling back into the room, just avoiding another lethal blow, Asami feeds a few pages in between. To smoke. To smolder. Finally, to catch and sustain a small orange flame.

It burns like gasoline. Hot and fierce to spread. So fast a few tongues of flame lick upon her skin before it can be dropped or thrown away.

And as the book burns, so too does the circle. Not the flames of ritual, nor the embers of failure, but the fires of consumption. Red hot and crackling. For the moment, confined to those lines so carefully drawn upon the floor, but she has no desire to see if it stayed that way.

Lucky for her.

Because the apartment just exploded.

To be precise, everything between her apartment and the one closest to the common room came bowling in through the kitchen, directly through the island. Cutlery and the contents of cabinets were thrown over everything by flailing, fleshy limbs. One can of soup was propelled so violently it exploded upon contact with the wall opposite. But the sound of this impact is impossible to hear over the utter cacophony of splintering boards and cracking tile.

At last, Korra cannot avoid everything sent her way. Splinters cover her head to toe in a flash, more than a few staying put, mainly in her lower half. Blood welled from them, these jagged cuts, she might have even winced. But her aim never wavers down the barrel of the sawed-off, planting two solid rounds at center mass.

“In the name of the Father, I cast you out!”

She charges madly, ducking a claw to land a devastating kick into the knee of a leg that was a now a twisted mass of gore and bone. It snaps. Loudly. The demon crumples to the floor as the blood spurting from a thousand holes starts to burn.

“In the name of the Son, I cast you out!”

Writhing on the ground, the thing of many faces and voices wept black tears from its many eyes. “ **Cec** - _ ter _ . Help  nos ,  **пожалуйста** !” it cries with pitiable agony in its voice, “Kill  _ oss _ !  **Пожалуйста,** kill  nos !”

The Justicar swiftly and efficiently ejects the magazine from her pistol, loading the next into place. Like a vengeful action hero, her hand calmly levels the weapon on the other knee, pulling the trigger again and again in the darkness.

Blood splatters.

So much blood.

Liquid fire pours from fresh holes and old, immolating the quivering from in all its grotesqueness.

_ “What a wretched creature...” _ whispers the voice that only she can hear. Each blink brings a flash of a stoic face. A featureless, yet somehow beautiful face. Like a memory. Something Asami knew the qualities of by heart, only with the finer details weathered away by the sands of time, while also being new and alien.  _ “What a waste of life, you are...” _

Flesh burns. Fire creeps out of almost every orifice. Movement stills, even as more bullets are laid into the torso between each set of milky eyes.

Night.

Day.

Night.

Day.

Blinding light followed by a warm glow of the dying fire around her and the growing inferno of the infernal beast. Bone sparks and blackens as it is revealed and set alight, wicking fat as a candle did. She cannot help the shiver that rolls up her spine at the sight.

Nor the bile that burns her throat.

“About fucking time,” the intruder grunts, stepping firmly down on a stilled limb to pin it where it lay. “I was running out of bullets to shoot this thing with.”

When it fails to resist, she kicks the appendage aside and reaches into a pocket. Out comes a clear plastic water bottle. Perfectly innocent looking and mundane, from base to the neat, blue cap twisted off and spat to the floor from the woman's teeth. But once it falls upon the befouled flesh, rather than over her lips, it leaves utter destruction in its wake.

Boils and pustules erupt and burst from every inch of skin not already boiling away in the flames.

_ Holy water. _

Fingers tense in the college student's innards as the host of this insanity feels her feet shuffle backwards. Meanwhile, the rest of her is struggling to simply stay upright, let alone shrinking from a relic available at any church of good repute.

Tipping the last of the liquid over the demon, Korra takes a few cautious steps back, letting the pistol slowly fall to her side. Her shotgun is retrieved from where it had been cast amid the debris. Dusted swiftly and slid into the cradle from which it had been drawn, the hand-cannon dribbles a thin tail of pale smoke.

_ “There. That wasn't so bad, was it?” _

_ I think it was  _ **_awful_ ** _! _

Lips tug back into a smile on the tenderest inch of Asami's neck.  _ “Pity. But I suppose there's no accounting for taste.” _

The lights come back. Humming and flickering, bringing light back to what was a most chaotic scene. Everything was destroyed, floor to ceiling. All her belongings broken down and busted up to be scattered over the floor. Not a single item left where they'd been left, many speckled with droplets of blood and viscera.

“Is it dead?”

A rather obvious question to ask. What was left of the hellion could fit inside a reasonably sized trashcan. Only a single face remains of the many, a single snaggle-toothed jaw hanging limply open as dying flames consume the contents of the orbits.

“Looks that way,” the witch-hunter says, turning to face her former captive.

Former in the immediate sense, as she draws the middle and pointer fingers of her offhand up before her face, making a circular motion,

Bindings leap from the clutter on the floor. Black straps lash to struggling wrists as the witch stumbles into a run. “What the hell!?!?” she demands, tripping over the remains of the coffee table and nearly embedding her teeth into the floor. Instead, her cheek smashes into said floor, teeth cutting the inside as she grits a split-second too late. “Why did you do that? I helped! I-I destroyed the book!”

_ “I do believe you miss the point, child,” _ whispers the voice softly in her ear. Almost seductive, but falling just short into alluring.

“Are you serious? What did you  **do** ?” Korra interrogates, lifting an eyebrow and taking a step towards where Asami squirms and struggles, “You mean apart from the, let's say, fifty murders? The unauthorized ritual? The summoning of a Class-C demonic entity into a populated area?”

“You summoned it!”

Both shoulders and elbows are yanked to near the breaking point, tensing for the pop. “Who did what, now?”

She doesn't answer. As salty blood coats her tongue, Asami stills at the sight of combat boots and a harsh tongue. Her head is full of many things she  **wants** to say. Insults and arguments by the dozen. Frustration bubbles in her gut, verging on full anger, but an iron will and years of practice tamp it down.

“Just let me go.”

Knees bend until those electric eyes enter frame. Interesting to note, her hand still holds the well-used pistol, finger a hair's breadth from the trigger. “Sorry, Sato, Asami Sato, but that's just not gonna happen. You're coming with me.”

_ I'm not going anywhere with you! _ she wants to scream,  _ You blew up my apartment! _

“Until I figure out exactly what happened here, you are officially remanded to my custody,” the intruder, and now kidnapper, decides, “But first, a few more questions.”

Pencil and pad are drawn from a pocket to replace the finally holstered sidearm. It bears a remarkable resemblance to a policewoman's ticket book. As a matter of fact, it might just be. Stubs of yellow and white are flipped over towards the top, several hanging by the last fibers of paper, while the sides betray the presence of carbon-paper layered with the plain sheets. The first lines are filled with a robotic efficiency, without the slightest input on the accused's part.

Something moves.

A scraping, slow, dragging sound. Nails digging into wood, breath gasping and ragged.

“We come.”

Asami's blood turns to ice in her veins. Between the legs of the Justicar, she can see it. The unholy thing still clings to life, eyes burning like coals and mouth spewing pitch-black smoke. And every second, it comes closer.

“ _ Du kan inte stoppa oss, Spawn of Adam. Balansen mellan skalorna tippar till vår fördel varje ögonblick _ ,” it proclaims as Korra spins on the spot and draws her shotgun, “ _ Vi är Legion, för vi är många. Du kommer att slåss mot oss, du kommer att misslyckas. Du kommer att fly, vi kommer att fånga dig. Våra vingar slår solen från himlen, våra händer kommer att riva dina murar och arméer, och våra fötter kommer att krossa allt på vår väg. Din typ kommer att brinna i ljuset från Morningstar _ !”

A foot comes crashing down on the flimsy arm a second time, snapping it beneath a heavy heel. “Et in nominae meo!” Korra hisses with dripping venom.

There is a sound of calamity as she blasts the shattered remains of the demon to ash.

Fingers clench deep inside Asami's core, bringing unbearable pain and the worst kind of nausea. An immense rage that is not her own overwhelms her emotions and pushes her consciousness to the verge of blacking out from the intensity.

_ “No…” _

_ I can't… _

_ “It will not stand. I will not  _ **_let_ ** _ it-” _

“I can't breathe!”

The violent, murderous, inhuman anger subsides as quickly as it had come. For the first time since she began her ritual's enchantment, Asami feels alone inside her own body. No voices in her ear. No fingers under her skin. Only a throbbing, head-splitting headache that makes her wish to dash her brains out against a wall.

Leather bonds loosen a deal, although not enough to free herself. Deep breaths of dusty air fill her lungs, only to be coughed out a second later, full of a pink mixture of blood and spittle.

“What was that?” she asks whoever might be listening, “What did it say?”

The Justicar hums, “Nothing good.”

Footsteps and raised voices can be heard from the hall and the apartments on either side. Her neighbors waking from their brief departures to the destruction wrought upon the building. Sirens can be heard in the distance, approaching from every direction.

“Looks like the questions can wait,” her captor says, hustling over and bending to lift Asami somewhat upright. “You have three minutes. Grab what you need, then we're leaving.”

“Um, I can't.”

“Why not?”

She blinks twice against those luminous eyes, saying nothing.

“Fine. I'll get it, then. Stay right where you are,” Korra instructs, stepping over the pile of smoldering ash to where the witch's cellphone blinks and buzzes. Then, she pauses, flicking a look over one shoulder. "And breathe through your nose. I'm not carrying you if you pass out." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humble: One demon down, an underworld of magical scum to go. You’ll forgive me for the abrupt nature of the battle (I hope). There will be more intensively detailed ones in the future, I’m sure. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, regardless, and will grace us with a comment.  
> Also, for those interested in what the demon is saying this chapter: Bold-Russian, Italics-Swedish, Underline-Spanish. I would put all the translations in, but there are quite a few and I don’t want to clutter the page. The only ominous one is the last block of Swedish.
> 
> JMStei: Sorry my notes are a bit late, I was stuck on a plane for a whole day then got attacked by family members. And again, Gone Questing is NOT going to be updated this following week. We are going to use the time to plan out the final act and make sure it's as awesome as possible for everybody.


	4. Down the Rabbit Hole

Sirens fade under the roar of thrumming American pistons. A black Mustang tears through the empty streets of Republic City, streetlamps and flashing signs but streaks against the shaded glass. The driver talks curtly into her phone to a person the passenger cannot hear and does not know.

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Class-C, multiple exposures,” the woman reports, turning a luminescent eye Asami's way. “Locals are on the scene, 13 th Precinct. Probably gonna be Wickershaw or Dubno. What? How the hell should I know?! That's your job!”

Whoever is on the other end responds with equal volume, if not tempo. Muffled words, commanding tone.

They take the corner at frightening speed, pressing the witch against the door panel. Wheels squeal for traction on the broken, loose Fens pavement, sending them halfway into the oncoming lane for much of a block. Over-correcting one way, then the other. It feels like she might be bounced right out of her seat, despite the belt across her chest, and the arms around her middle. All she can do is close her eyes and wait for it to be over.

Her madness snickers,  _ “Well, that's not  _ **_all_ ** _ you can do...” _

An image flashes in her mind's-eye. Bonds snapping under her magic, hands leaping for her captor. Right for the gun. She can feel the weight of it in her hands, as if it was already there.

Just, pull the trigger, and…

_ NO! _

_ “It was just a suggestion,” _ the voice mutters, less sinisterly than before. Fingertips play just under Asami's skin, leaving lines of goosebumps in their wake. It's maddening. Teasing. Unwanted and uncomfortable.  _ “I'm sorry, am I bothering you?” _

_ Yes! Yes you are! _

The last thing she needs is to be… distracted. Closely followed by going mad. Or maybe it was the reverse? Both? It's hard to think when she has to lean forward to catch a full breath.

Momentum shifts, pulling her flush against the leather and truly out of her thoughts. They burn through a red light at fifty without a second thought being given to braking. No, the Justicar was too busy with her call for such things. Too busy mouthing off and making decisions. Giving confused, out of the loop, nervous college students looks of something beyond suspicion.

“No, I've got her with me. Why?” She nods her head, eyes flicking to the speedometer for a split-second. At last, the foot comes off the gas as they cross the divide between the Fens and Grantwood. “Tonight? What about tomorrow?”

Tomorrow…

I can't get kidnapped, I have class!

Lips curl into a smile on her spine, voice whispering a seductive,  _ “Shhh… All will be well.” _

Ghost of finger press into her knotted muscles once again, seeking every node of tension. Each is expertly worked, such that Asami just slumps into the pressure, all thought washing away in the relief. So relaxing. So comfortable.

So very, very tired.

Lids slide shut, refuse to open. Breaths come deep and easy. She can hear someone humming a song. One the witch is sure she knows.

_ “Rest now, child. Let the world of men fall away. Be at  _ **_peace_ ** _ ,” _ the voice from her dream instructs. Or was it the same one she always hears? A laugh echoes like it issued from the far end of a vast cavern. Deeper and more resonant than the feminine tone that follows after.  _ “Cast it off. Every bit of it. Let your mind be totally clear. All your troubles can wait for the morning sun.  _ **_We_ ** _ have more pressing matters to discuss, Daughter of Eden.” _

If able, she would sink her nails into anything they could find. That  **voice** ! So familiar!!!

_ I-I know you. Why can't I remember? _

Another laugh, just as booming as the last. The lips are more than pressing, now, kissing up her neck. Teeth pull upon her ear, hands wandering her skin.  _ “ _ **_Sleep_ ** _. I think it's about time we should meet.” _

Asami struggles against the tide of darkness closing in. Tooth and claw and every ounce of energy in her body instinctively wars to stay conscious. A losing battle if there ever was one. No matter how fast she runs away, the ground under her continues to dip. Moments later, she is cast into impending slumber, swallowed up, body and soul.

_ Right into a dream. _

_ Smoke swirls round her bare feet, hovering over a floor of cold, black obsidian. Light reflects off the surface from ornate candelabras and torch bearing sconces. Carved marble columns rise from the floor, reaching up to a ceiling decorated with endless murals. _

_ It's dark. Gloomy. But her eyes can see rather far in the firelight. Shapes and figures writhing in the shadows, soft whispers and breathy giggles caressing her inner ears. People. Dozens of them, cloaked in shadow and little else. One by one, sets of eyes begin to turn her way, voices turning to gasps and hushed gossip. _

_ She doesn't have to move or shift to deduce what she's interrupted. The bared breasts, glistening chests, and stench of sweat are adequate as clues. _

_ The floor is littered with clusters of cushions, each topped by two or more naked forms in the midst of… _

_ Hands snap up to cover her eyes before lids can snap shut over them. Heat burns up her neck and surges into her cheeks. But, no matter how hard she tries, the images refuse to wiped from her mind. They dwell, linger, and intensify as the tempo of their acts increase with the thumping of Asami's heart. _

_ “They're delightful, aren't they?” inquires a voice now all too familiar. Wind rushes by with the sound of feathers rustling, feet touching the ground but a yard from where Asami stood. “Such lovely little fantasies. You really outdid yourself with the creativity.” _

_ Confusion. _

_ Her head shakes, eyes opening to fixate on the source of her maddening whisper. “Who are you?” Asami asks in reply, temples throbbing, “I-I know you. Why do I know you?” _

_ A face, ridiculous in its beauty, lolls lazily to one side. When it does so, platinum blonde locks ripple into curls of mahogany brown as blue-stained lips shift to scarlet. “The 'Who' is a rather… difficult question. I've earned quite a few names over the years. And besides, it's not  _ **_nearly_ ** _ as interesting as the 'Why',” the figment… flirts? _

_ At least, it sounds that way. The way she walks so smoothly, bosom almost spilling from her top, to lay a single finger over the witch's lips makes her legs go a little wobbly. Her smile, so predatory and satisfied at the response, on the other hand has her struggling to swallow. _

_ “You see, the 'Why' has almost everything to do with the 'Where',” she says, turning on the spot and sending ten-and-ten orbs of fire from her fingertips, “Where do you think we are?” _

_ Fresh light illuminates the space, a chamber stretching out beyond the horizon. They rise and rise to touch the ceiling, reflecting off ribbons of gold and silver, then again of the volcanic glass floor. Gloom becomes brighter than the clearest moonlight, every line and figure enhanced. Suddenly, Asami can see everything. Absolutely  _ **_everything_ ** _. Scores of beautiful people in rows like spokes radiating from a raised platform in the middle. _

_ All of them, well… _

_ “Stop it!” Her hands fall down to douse the balls of fire, instead taking every light and plunging all into total darkness. _

_ The voice in her head hums. Others sob and wail like beaten children, full of dejection and sorrow. “ _ **_That_ ** _ is why I know you, Asami Sato,” the winged woman whispers, backing away with a flutter. “Those that repress their desires without any outlet are like beacons for those of us that dwell within the darkness.” _

_ There's a snap of fingers and a light no brighter than a candle comes to life at the tip of her thumb. Freckled face and ginger hair frame eyes of startling violet. She smiles another toothy smile and flicks the flame into the sky to grow and illuminate a small circle around them. _

_ “Let there be light!” she declares, before chuckling with amusement. _

_ Asami slowly turns on the spot, catching glimpses of flickering forms hiding behind pillars of stark-white marble. They shrink from her gaze. Take cover behind stone or the bodies of those they had most recently been entwined. Each face is vaguely familiar, like someone the sat three rows ahead two semesters back. The only problem being that there had never been so many attractive people in any of her classes. _

_ “This is-” _

_ “The deepest recesses of your mind, yes. Where all your dirty secrets lie, and all your fantasies come to life. Seemed a fitting place for me to reside for the time being.” _

_ Reside? _

_ Pieces slide into place as the specter of a woman makes another shift, losing a couple inches and a good deal of her clothing. How everything had started with a dream. One dream over several nights, unendingly persistent and impossibly vivid the next morning. A book in a closet, locked away under a pile of moth-eaten towels. _

_ Lost. _

_ But not forgotten. _

_ Hidden away for the secrets contained within. Secrets that would propel her studies into the stratosphere. _

_ And they had. Remarkably so. With helpful hints hidden in new dreams, then in whispers inside her skull. Gentle words. Sweet suggestions that would buoy both her ego and her confidence. Success was always sure to follow, and with it, the nerve to perform the next spell on the next page. _

_ “Before you ask, I haven't been here the entire time,” the woman says a moment before Asami was going to do just that. She now bore a striking resemblance to a window-dancer that frequented a club directly along the Fens Feeder bus route. Only, instead of a fleeting glance of striptease, she was all there. From fishnet stockings to rough-cut blue hair dye. “No, I'm here because a certain someone got cold feet a moment before the climax.” _

_ A shudder runs up her spine at the way that last word rolls off the shapeshifter's tongue. “So, it was a demonic ritual? You're a-” _

_ Feathers rustle sharply, wings reappearing from the shadows to engulf them both in a circle of black down and shades of reflected blue and purple. “Be careful what you call me, child,” the nameless denizen warns, eyes burning like coals of hellfire, “I am not anything of the sort, and it would be best that you remember it.” _

_ “Then, what are you?” _

_ The question explodes, unprompted, as her flash of fear mixes with a healthy dose of simmering frustration. She wants to understand. Something,  _ **_anything_ ** _ about this night had to make sense. _

_ “One of those that came before. Before the planets, before the stars, before the very universe you call home. I have existed for countless eons, and will exist for countless more. After this reality grows cold and dark, I will be here at the founding of the next,” recites the winged being, with a less than perfectly serious look on her face. Rather, with every word, the anger is exchanged for a renewed appearance of amusement. Soon, a smile stretches from ear to ear. “Or maybe not. I'm not terribly sure, anymore, and the Old Man does enjoy his grudges.” _

_ Old Man? _

_ Wings? _

_ “Are you… an angel?” _

_ The smile grows toothy and elated, hands softly clapping. “Clever girl. Although, I believe the Church would call me 'Fallen'. Not particularly creative, but what can you expect from a bunch of celibates dressed up in bed sheets, wearing ridiculous hats?” _

_ “What are you doing in my head?” Asami asks, ignoring the affront at the expense of the clergy. _

_ “Why else? I was doing what all of us do, on occasion: trying to escape Hell.” Blink, and she's another beautiful blonde, cloaked in an elegant evening gown. Both hands wield iced cocktails, one being offered as the other is sipped. She shrugs when it is refused and lets it slip from her fingers. “I know you've read the book. Dante's Inferno! Very vivid. Not a terrible guess, either.” _

_ Glass smashes on the floor, shards of crystal sparkling in the flickering light. The sound spooks Asami enough for her to jump half out of her skin. A moment before her toes returns to the floor, she tenses, sure to feel the soles of her feet sliced apart by the jagged edges. _

_ But, she is spared as the fragments scatter as dust across the black scape of her mind. “Was it your spellbook? Why was in my house?” _

_ The nameless woman raises an eyebrow. A silk-gloved hand rises to pluck the air like strings. Moments later and a wave of nostalgia washes over the student as she hears a voice, silenced for many years, calling out her name, “Asami? Asami, are you hiding in there?” Blink, and she's crouched in a dusty closet with a blanket over her head. At her feet, a leather bound book with a powerful stench of mothballs. “Get out here right now, young lady!” _

_ Asami takes the step, and finds herself back in halls of stone and debauchery. _

_ Candles blaze brighter than ever in their gold and iron frames. Sounds of renewed passion echo from all directions, long shadows cast at the witch's feet as she confronts a throne. Raised on a plinth of rose-colored crystal, gold frame studded with gems larger than a fist, sit pillows of scarlet velvet. And on it, a mirror of herself, sipping red wine and smiling hungrily. _

_ “Your mother was a talented woman. Bold and confident and beautiful. Alas, she knew exactly who she was, and couldn't hear my whispers,” laments her reflection, grin slipping just a bit. “ _ **_You_ ** _ , on the other hand, my dear, are in the most delicious denial.” _

_ Denial? _

_ What was she- _

_ It doesn't matter. “What do you want? And, who are you!?” _

_ Leaping up, the voice of madness takes a theatrical bow. “The 'What' and the 'Who' are even more closely linked than the 'Why'. 'What' I want is to be free of the exile my most Wise and Glorious Father imposed on me. To taste the spring air on my tongue, inhale the scent of fresh baked bread,” she says, tipping the contents of her cup onto the crystal steps, “And to drink wine that doesn't taste like piss.” _

_ “As for 'Who', again, it is complicated. So many names over the millennia. So many lives lived,” she sighs, flicking the glasses from her nose with a knowing smirk, “The Romans called me Venus; the Danes called me Freyja; in Japan, I am known as Kisshōten; and the Greeks, to them I was Aphodite. Rather fond of that last one. But  _ **_you_ ** _ may call me... Lilith.” _

_ If a pin had dropped, you could have heard it echo forever. With a collective gasp, each fantasy pauses their respective activities to gawk, while Asami herself takes a step back. _

“Hey...”

_ Cracks form in the ebony surface as the Mother of Evil laughs a bellowing laugh that takes on a monstrous quality as it echoes off the walls. “I see my reputation precedes me. Although, you would do well to ignore the finer points of family politics.” _

_ “Oh, shit...” Asami says, stumbling back until she trips over a cushion and went sprawling over a tangle of limbs and bodies. Hand clutch at her as she flails against them, equally as desperate to rid herself of their immediately intimate touches as she is to flee from the seat of corruption. “Stay away from me!” _

_ “I'm afraid that is impossible, child. The two of us are bound together, both body and soul, and we will each need the other to fix that.” _

_ “I won't help you! I'll-” _

_ There's a rush of air and roar of wind, and the witch finds herself nose to nose with her double. “You'll what? Tell the Justicar what has happened? Tell her that I'm here?” Lilith demands with mad entertainment in her violet eyes, “I didn't take you for suicidal.” _

_ “But-but!” _

_ “But nothing, Asami Sato. Like it, or not, we'll be partners in our endeavors until you can find a way to safely separate us,” whispers the foulest of unholy temptresses, hot breath making Asami' head spin with its sweet scent against her nostrils, “I propose we make it a mutually beneficial one. What do you say?” _

_ Nothing. _

_ She says nothing, retreating just as quickly as the daemonette approaches. No spell leaps to mind. No arcane wisdom offers itself. All she has is panic and despair. _

“Hey, wake up!”

_ Pain. Pain in her cheek, like someone has violently pinched it. _

_ “An answer, Daughter of Yasuko. Shall we serve each others interest, or will you doom us both to The Pit?” Around the edges, she shifts again, skin darkening to a shade of almond. Hair lightens to a chocolate brown, with a whiff of nutmeg on the air. “You will service me all the Earthly Pleasures I have been denied in my exile, and I shall bestow upon you both my counsel and my tutelage. Do we have a deal?” _

“If you're messing with me, you're going to get it, you hear me?” It's a new voice, but one she can already recognize. That of the distracted driver who held her captive. “Wake up!”

_ A foul aroma of brimstone fills her nose, permeating the dream like a front of fog rolling in off the lake. It makes her gag and splutter, dragging her back towards consciousness, but a force stronger than her own impulses holds her in place. _

_ Body and mind struggle against both and each other. “Let me go!” Asami demands of the loosening grip, feeling her soul fraying with the passing seconds. _

_ “Your answer?” _

_ Again, a pungent whiff of sulfur. Bile boils in the pit of the witch's stomach, both hands flying to cover her nose as she wheels away from her demonic squatter. “Fuck!” she screams, fingers doing nothing to block the miasma eating away at her lungs and throat, “Fine! Whatever you want! You're not giving me any choice!” _

Breath pours into her lungs as she surges forward, head colliding violently with something hard and oppressively close. Fresh pain comes soaring to the fore to replace the dull aching everywhere and the acid burning away her insides.

“Son of a bitch!” Korra curses, falling away with a hand pressed to her forehead.

Asami follows the motion, retching and coughing to rid herself of the lingering burn. They've parked. Light flows through the open door from a single incandescent bulb. Framed in the yellow glow is the scowling face from inside her mind. “Where are we?” she asks of it as lids blink stars from her dazzled eyes.

“The Taj Ma-fucking-hal. Come on, we're going to the gift shop,” spits the woman, looping her off hand under the witch's arm and pulling, “Get out.”

A harder task than one would think, under the circumstances. With a head spinning from cracking her skull against a solid chunk of bone, balance utterly ruined by the binding of her hands, and legs shaking from a combination of frayed nerves and lack of sleep did not a stable gate make.

Disorientation was the name of the day. Despite her markedly unsound mind and body, the thing that affects her most was that bizarre combination of sleep-deprivation and fitful 'sleep'. Bodily dragged out into the narrow confines of a narrow, dark, rubbish filled alley, Asami was struck with the unfamiliar sensation of having no idea where she was. She could be anywhere in Republic City. Maybe even beyond.

Grand Rapids?

Lansing?

Christ, she could be in South Chicago, for all she knew.

Not that it particularly matters. A dowsing spell or GPS might allay that one concern, but the more immediate ones filing up in the queue would not be.

The unblinking eye of a security camera glaring down at them from high up on the wall only serves to fuel rampant paranoia. It gives the illusion of a passive bystander. An uncaring observer on the other side of that black lens, impervious to her plight. No sound of traffic, no clamor of pedestrians, not the faintest hint of night-life to give Asami hope of intervention and rescue. She feels hopelessly alone and helpless, with no real energy to struggle if the need arose.

“I guess I should have asked this earlier, but do you have any medical conditions I should know about?” Korra asks as she spins her prisoner round to where a second light faintly glows, “Diabetes, schizophrenia, heart-condition, frequent bouts of  **fainting** ?”

She shakes her head, eyeing around for any familiar landmarks looming out of the darkness, “No. No, why?”

“Well, first you passed out all of a sudden. Then you started mumbling to yourself like you were talking to someone and wouldn't wake up, no matter what I did,” she reports, setting a brisk pace for the set of concrete steps leading to a decrepit steel door. “In my profession, that tends to mean you're either high, sick, or crazy. Just trying to figure out which.”

Intently, the witch watches her captor’s fingers press a sequence on the number lock: 7-5-6-7. A second later and there's a faint buzz before a louder click, the handle then turning with ease in the Justicar's hand.

Memorizing the sequence, I spill the first half-lie to present itself, “Sorry. Haven't slept in three days.”

“Great. Another weirdo,” Korra groans, pushing Asami inside the unfamiliar building. A back stairwell behind a restaurant, by the looks. Shuddered and locked up tight, dark besides the emergency lighting. “Watch your step. Up the stairs, first door on your right. Let’s get you booked.”

_ Booked? _

_ “Well, we have been arrested…” _

Lips smile against the witch’s neck, raising every hair available. Ghostly fingers take their place around her waist. An embrace that feels far too intimate, now the owner of them was known, let alone the sensation of the rest of her pressing close to Asami’s spine. She shivers and leans as far from the touch as the third party would allow. Vainly, she begs,  _ “Please leave!” _

_ “While you’re getting all flustered? I think not,” _ Lilith purrs into her ear, teeth raking the lobe,  _ “Oh, and I forgot to mention. Congratulations, you’re possessed!” _

“Fuck…” the college student breathes, trudging up the steps with dread in her soul.

There was no way she was making it to class on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humble: Next time, a different case, more characters debut, and hopefully less weirdness. Fingers crossed.


	5. Smile, Child of Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Asami get of easy, or will she get the book thrown at her.

To say Asami's morning was going more hectically than she liked would be an understatement. She hadn't slept a wink. Every moment after being thrust roughly into a 'bedroom' about the size of her childhood closet had been spent pacing. Muttering endlessly to herself an increasingly paranoid recap of the last few weeks.

Some single moment where life had just gone wrong. A conversation, a paragraph, a dream that had cast her under the influence of a being off distilled evil.

An evil that was content to loiter in the edge of consciousness, laughing to itself. Seemingly at nothing. Whether that is worse or better, the witch can't really tell. But, so long as she was off laughing, she tempting anything more vile.

Feet stalk a path through the dusty surface, kicking up a cloud of particles to do murder on the captive's sinuses. Everything was filthy. And not just in a neglectful way, but as though all the dirt and grim of an entire apartment had been forcefully crammed into this one small space Stacks of loose folders that scraped the ceiling and books whose bindings have long decayed sit at the foot of an unmade single bed. The air smells strongly of their degradation: mildew, mold, and aged paper. So nostalgic it made her sneeze from memory.

As soon as she does, the voice from the other side of the door pauses its conversation, clomping feet coming to a menacing halt. “You okay in there?”

“Y-yes!” Asami replies, quickly wiping her nose on a scrap of paper.

There's a pause that seems to stretch on for minutes. Every heartbeat resonates inside her skull, pressure building, breath panting. Panic edges forward as a spell leaps to mind that could batter down the weak ward on the door. Basal fear clouds a sleepless mind, supporting limbs of strong breeze away from giving out.

_ “Shh, child, all is well,” _ Lilith whispers, returning attention to a host that wishes only to avoid it. Returning to prickle skin is an impossibly wide smile, invisible fingers roaming close to the intimate.  _ “Sleep while we can. You need to rest if you want to be rid of me.” _

_ “There is no WE!” _

But, there is a point there. Research. Class. Negotiation. Escape, if necessary. None of those would be possible if her feet were too heavy to move.

A filthy bed is still inviting, after all. Especially now that another lay in splinters on a devastated floor. Flopping down on it sent a brown cloud into the already choked atmosphere. As green eyes drift shut, Asami notes how similar it looks to the air that night, so many years ago. Fire crackles in her ears as the ground rushes up, beams splintering in her memory.

Next thing she knew, a hand was roughly shaking on her shoulder, prying her from a shallow slumber. A scowling face looks down, luminous eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Get up,” Korra orders, palm resting on a still present pistol grip, “Come on, you've to talk to the boss.”

_ Boss? _

Apparently, she was to have no time to think or process.

Up!

Up to her feet.

Don't be groggy. Don't be slow. Keep up and don't drag your feet along the cluttered floor. Trip over your own shoes, first, then a duffel bag of your belongings.

She curses the sudden pain in her toe aloud as her wrist is held in an iron vice. Not painful, but undoubtedly inescapable. It brings a renewal of paranoia as a haze still clings over everything. Only the blaring insanity of the television gave any relief, and even then only as a mild distraction on the way by.

A narrow desk, crammed unceremoniously under a window, just a hint of dawn illuminating the few manila folders and yellowed landline. Two chairs of a cheap, if practical office design sit beside the phone, on which a red light blinks.

Hold

One of Korra's fingers jab it as she nods for Asami to take the less ratty looking of the pair. “You're on,” she tells whomever had been waiting, just a hint of restraint under her exhausted chip. A second button. “And, we're recording.”

“Wonderful. Miss Sato, can you hear me?” a freshly unfamiliar voice asks. Kindly. Male. Slightly muffled, like the speaker was whispering in a library.

“Yes.”

Her short answer earns her a narrow look from the magical judge, prompting her to add. “Sir.”

“Miss Sato, my name is Tenzin. I'm a member of the Michigan Witches Council, currently assigned to monitor all of our resident Justicars and their activities in the Republic City,” the man says is a voice that would be perfect for telling lullabies. “Now, we seem to be having a few problems processing your case. Namely because you don't appear to be in any of our records. I suppose the first order of business should be figuring out where you're from so we can fix that.”

Blinking in an attempt to rectify his statement with everything she knew, Asami puzzled.  _ Witches Council? Justicars? Plural. _ “I, um, I'm from Grand Rapids. East Grand Rapids.”

Across from her, the woman who'd so liberally sown an apartment building full of lead and blood, doing battle with a creation of the infernal, hardened. Her jaw ground as the rest leaned forwards with obvious distrust and displeasure. “No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am. I swear.” Not a single change. If anything, fresh anger boils in the woman's face. “Breton Downs Elementary. We lived on Maplewood until I was seven.”

“Good for you. Li-”

Before the likely readily primed temper could release itself, the man intervened, “Miss Sato, if you're hiding something about your past, it would be better for it to come out now. Hiding it will only make more trouble, later.”

Hiding?

_ What would I have to hide? _

_ “A great many things, it would appear,” _ came the graceful, alluring hum of madness in her ear. Fingertips circle slowly round her navel, other palm sliding down her back such the witch lifts out of her chair an inch to avoid it.  _ “These glasses, for a start. Why on earth are you still wearing these things? They're horrendous! You could get a better model in a minute, let alone contacts.” _

_ “Shhh!” _

Flustered, Asami insists, “I'm not lying. My dad runs a car company: Future Industries. You can look him up.”

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

She can see one jaw on the floor, and can practically hear another across the phone line.

“You're  **that** Asami Sato?!” Korra blurts, eyes wide as dinner-plates. It was a most familiar outburst that brought a most familiar discomfort. An endless fidgeting under another's gaze, suddenly incapable of keeping eye contact. For sight to wander, skin to crawl, each limb curling in like the husk of a spider. “Now I  **really** can't believe it. Tenzin, come on. If she's doing magic, someone has to know about it. Try Detroit, or the Athenists.”

“I already have. No one has any record of any 'Asami Sato' being registered,” the fatherly sounding man says with both surety and confusion. “Tell me, Miss, do belong to any cults or covens.”

Her head shakes, frantically, almost a shiver. “No-no, nothing like that. I-I'm just, I mean I just-” Her brain shuts down as she starts to focus on every word. It's hard to explain, for some reason, even though it shouldn't be. A quirky sort of timid half-smile leapt to her lips with a burst of social anxiety. “To be honest, until yesterday, I thought I was the only witch left.”

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

A pause that hangs over Asami's head like the Sword of Damocles. One snip of the little thread, one kernel of doubt, and she might be undone. Brewing only feet away was someone who'd put a gun to her head. Armed, incredulous, and, as both of them knew, dangerous as an untended flame.

No blow falls.

No snap of a hand or pulling of triggers. Just the falling of a pretty face marked by lines of exhaustion into waiting hands. “You've got to be kidding me?”

“I will admit, this does seem to be the most irregular case we've seen in quite a while. Still, nothing there aren't provisions for,” Tenzin softly sighs over the sound of frenzied typing. Tension bleeds from the room like a fire hose had been opened on the embers, returning all to a more clerical setting. “Just, handle it as you would any other first offense, I suppose. As for you, Miss Sato: we will need to set up an appointment for you to meet me in my office. Urgently.”

Her head nods, instinctively. “Yes, Sir.”

“Thanks, Tenzin,” the Justicar says, voice something other than thankful. A finger jabs the speaker button before tumbling the set back into the receiver. So there they sat, a tense few moments, before the woman said, “You are in  **deep** shit.”

“Why!? I didn't know! It was-”

Fingers clench into her side.  _ “Careful,” _ warns the demoness,  _ “Don't ruin your good fortune. Or mine.” _

“What?”

_ Think, think, think! _

An image floats to the front of her mind, and not entirely naturally. It was like a memory had been plucked out and removed, then stuck right under her eyes, where it could not be ignored. “The book. I found this old book in my house.”

“Is this the same old book that summoned a demon into my city?”

_ “Hmhmhm. Sorry about that.” _

Asami shrugged, actually as suspicious of the object, now, as the girl with the eyes that caught starlight. “There was nothing else like that in there. Just basic stuff. Wards against insects, remedies and tonics, animation, a little golemancy. There wasn't even an offensive spell until about halfway through, and it was useless. Undid your shoelaces.”

So spreads the smile as the omissions pour forth. Quite from where, Asami knew exactly. What makes her marvel is that all of it, strictly speaking, was true. Not one word of a lie spoken. Nor was that, on the very next page, was a hex to crush a heart.

The fire behind the eyes blazing into her settled a degree. With a sigh, Korra said, “Well, if you'd just done that, instead of culling a couple dozen people in a ritual, we wouldn't be here, would we?”

“I guess not...” Fingers crossed, hope for the best.

Speaking of fingers, the witch watches as a set of them drum against an open file with her name scribbled across the top. The page is littered with lines of unruly, unreadable text, that was so sloppy to make her skin crawl. One word stands out more than most, underlined as it is, multiple times: FELONY. As someone who had never so much as jay-walked, before, it allows a return to the dread and nausea she had only just managed to rid herself of.

“Listen to me. That man we just talked to is the only reason I am not going to throw you in a very deep, very dark hole, for a very long time,” Korra informs her rather plainly. “You are not smart, you are  **lucky** . Understand?”

Another bout of nodding later and the student felt the bile in her belly start to work its way up her throat.

Seconds later, the Justicar's right hand rose to rest a single finger on Asami's forehead. The other picks up a pen and quickly scribbles an intricate pattern on the surface of her desk. “I, Korra Waters, of the House of Michael, do hereby pass the Lord's Judgment on thee, Asami Sato. You are guilty of endangering the lives of the Unknowing, entering a pact with the Unholy, and damage to both Life and Property.”

A sudden heat burns the student's arm. Lines of molten fire carve into her skin and flesh like a knife. She wants to scream, but can't. Can't move, can't breathe. Can't even blink.

Only watch. Listen. Beg an absent God to make the pain end.

So does it lift.

The hand of corruption slides along her flank, diverting to pass her breast, then out to the offending area. In its wake, something better than numbness. Like every nerve was set alight with instant passion. Such a touch was not human, for if it was, no person would be able to resist turning it upon themselves every hour of their existence.

_ “The thought has crossed my mind,” _ Lilith seduces, lip held both in her teeth and against Asami's pulse.  _ “Just a bit more, child.” _

“I hereby remand you into my own custody until I see fit to release you-”  _ Release me… Please, release me. I-I need release! _ “I also levy an indemnity upon your house and your line. Two kilograms of gold, or such other good and services of equal value I might see fit.”

How much?

It is done. The touch recedes as the carving ceases. Lungs flood with air as every fiber and sinew frozen by the spell's effect snap to where she'd wanted them to be. Momentum nearly carries Asami out of her chair and sprawling to the ground, but inertia only just wins out. She is left lightheaded. Shaking. A dull throbbing has taken hold of her arm just above the sleeveline. Lingering pain that warrants inspection, just as soon as the star stop dancing in her vision.

Korra hums, as though she'd impressed, “Handled that better than most people do. Well done.” Fingers flick the pen aside, before digging in a drawer and offering a swab of gauze. “You said you had a class, where at?”

“R-republic City U. In the Fleming Annex.”  _ Fuck! That smarts! _

Her captor nods, making a note in her files of the time and date. “Alright, I'll need a copy of your class schedule before you leave. Any other excursions planned?”

“No. Why-”

“Your stuff is over there by the door. Bathrooms down the hall, second door on the left, if you want a shower, or whatever. Go ahead and use whatever's in there, this time, but you'll have to buy your own,” the woman rattles off, leaning back in her chair and pointing lazily in the general direction of things. “Oh, and make an itemized list of anything you want from your place that didn't make it in the bag. I'll make a run in a few hours to pick it up.”

Asami shivers, “Um, I don't like people going through my things.”

Leaning even further back to bark a laugh, Korra says, “Tough shit, princess. Should have thought about that before you fucked up big. My guess is, right now, there's five CSI techs rooting around your apartment trying to figure out where all that blood came from.”

The image that pops into the student's head disturbs her. Strangers trouncing about the little sanctuary she had built. Moving things, breaking things, going through the drawers.

Something like an anxious squeak escapes her lips as she shivers.

_ “She is only saying that to torment you. Pay her no mind,” _ advises the fallen angel in her head, patting her gently on the head,  _ “The clock, on the other hand...” _

Somewhere nearby, an alarm begins to chime musical notes. It sends Asami running for the bag across the cluttered living area to tear the zipper open, disgorging the contents onto the floor. Her phone shakes violently, trying to flee from her attempts to grab it. The screen blurts a frantic prompt:  _ 30 Minutes, 30 Minutes, 30 Minutes. _

No time to shower. No time for anything. She had to-

“You need a ride?”

For a tense moment, her brain freezes.  _ “Say, yes.” _

“Yes! Yes, please! Oh, thank you, Thank You, thankyou!” the student repeats over and over, grabbing the first set of clothes set her fingers on.

She bolts down the hall in a flash, working at her shirt before the door had the chance to slam behind her. From behind her, the entire way, she had heard the mutterings of the Justicar at her desk. Her mind all a frenzy, she pays the words no mind. All thought is lasered in on a spiraling cycle of increasingly terrible outcomes at being even a second late. Some part of her, more rational and composed, sees this train as runaway and folly. The rest will not allow reconsideration, lost to rationality until delusion can play its course.

That is, until she spots a flash of black out of the corner of her eye. A blemish upon the skin of her arm that had first been scalded, the soothed so fantastically.

Such a complex design.

Intricate lines of an almost tribal design. Looping and winding back on themselves. Almost alive in how each twists and contorts with even the slightest movement. With each pump of her heart, the surface pulses in an almost metallic way. Like scales or… feathers.

_ A tracking charm? _

_ “Precisely. And a powerful one, at that, _ ” murmurs Lilith, contemplatively. If Asami strains her ears, she can almost hear the sound of bare feet pacing through obsidian halls.  _ “ _ **_This_ ** _ will make matters more difficult. You won't be able to source the texts to separate us if the witch-hunter is always hot on your heels. A different strategy is in order...” _

Swallowing, the witch asks,  _ What kind of 'strategy'? _

_ “Well, we could try seduction?” _

_ NO! _

Tutting, there is a fluttering of wings that sends the host stumbling into the tub, having to support herself on the faucet.  _ “Tch! Fine, then. I suppose we will have to enlist one of your friends as our agent. Which of them do you think would be most trustworthy?” _

Immediately, one name came to mind. And not because she was the only one Asami had the number of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humble: There might be a long wait between this and the next chapter, depending on how things play out. Life is pretty hectic on my end, atm. I won’t get into it, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that it helps you distract yourself from your drama. Best wishes on this holiday weekend.
> 
> JMStei: Life is even more hectic for me. I just started school again and holy shit, so much work on top of my work. I also don’t know when the next chapter is going to come out, and we might take a little bit to regroup and plan our next advance. Until next time!


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